


Breathe In, Breathe Out

by amusensical



Series: Forging a Bond [6]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Canon Compliant, M/M, Meeting of equals under the sheets, Puppy Carter, much needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusensical/pseuds/amusensical
Summary: This awful, unpredictable work brings them crashing together, each other’s only respite. Anyone else requires arrangements, explanations, repercussions.At his knock, Wilde’s voice answers, full of warm invitation. Stepping in and shutting the door takes the last of his coherent attention and he stands, stunned with desire. Wilde sits in his desk chair, brushing his hair. Wilde looks at Barnes, sets aside the brush mid-stroke, and suddenly, finally, now.
Relationships: James Barnes/Howard Carter, James Barnes/Oscar Wilde
Series: Forging a Bond [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079369
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Breathe In, Breathe Out

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the rating. Other works in this series contain innuendo and vulgarities. This one spells it out.

They walk through the kitchen, and as soon as they turn the corner into the hallway Wilde spins around, arms open. Momentum carries Barnes into his embrace. They hug fiercely, Barnes’ head against Wilde’s shoulder, pressed together from chest to thigh, for the space of a breath, and another. Wilde lets up but doesn’t let go, and after another breath they pull back, Barnes’ hands resting at Wilde’s waist, Wilde’s palms cradling Barnes’ jaw, feeling the tension carried there as well as the smile. 

Wilde smiles too, then leans in and whispers. “You really stink.” Their smiles turn into grins that threaten to spill over into laughter, and they step apart. Wilde nods toward an open door off the hallway. “There should be plenty of hot water for you both to have baths. When you’re done, my room is at the end of the hall. Come say good night. Please.”

Barnes is still grinning, edging now away from laughter. He reaches up, grasping the rough collar of Wilde’s shirt and rubbing his knuckles against the base of Wilde’s throat. “I will,” he says, looking up, and the grin shifts again, toward hunger. “Be ready.” 

The tub and fixtures are utilitarian rather than luxurious, but the water is hot, with something resinous and herbal in the steam. Barnes sits in the low chair next to the tub and feels the tightness setting into the muscles of his back and legs as he unlaces and pulls off his boots, then strips and puts everything into a neat pile. Settling into the tub, the water comes up above his waist. Sliding down until his shoulders are below the water, he feels the dust and some of the worry start to dissolve. 

On a shelf next to the tub there is a bowl of soft soap with the same smell of rosemary and juniper, along with a glass of cool water and a pitcher for rinsing off. Barnes ducks his head under the water, then scoops out a handful of soap and methodically washes the sweat and dirt from his face, his neck, his hair, combing his fingers through the tangles. Another scoop of soap serves to scrub off his arms, under his arms, chest, belly, as much of his back as he can reach. 

Washing his feet turns into a stretch that he feels from the top of his shoulders, all the way through his back and down into his ass and hamstrings. Holding the stretch, he breathes in the warmth. It feels so good to be clean, but he is feeling less and less relaxed. He presses his chest into his knees and feels his cock stir against his belly, and he indulges in a few slow strokes as he soaps between his legs. He stands up, and shivers, and pours warm water from the pitcher over his body, using his other hand to sluice off the remaining soap, and shivers. _Soon._

There’s a towel, which he leaves draped around his neck after drying off. There’s a robe, which is lucky, since all his other clothes are in the bedroom where he and Carter dropped their belongings when they arrived. Ah. Carter. Barnes shivers again, and feels the flush of his face, the heat in his cock, and shakes his head. _That thought is for another day._ Wilde will know, of course, probably already knows. Deep breath. 

A servant gives a little bow in as Barnes enters the kitchen, takes the folded clothes from him, then moves past him toward the bathroom to get the bath ready for Carter. Tomorrow he’ll ask how he can help, but tonight he has just one more task before… before. _Soon._

Barnes steps out onto the balcony. He can see a glow from the seating area and hears Carter’s quiet drumming blending with the murmur of insects and the rustle of the evening breeze over sand. 

“Carter,” Barnes calls softly. “Hey. Come here.” The drumming stops and the glow dims, and Barnes realizes there was a tune within the drumming. Carter steps out from under the overhang and looks up to the balcony. 

“Hey Barnes,” says Carter, his eyes bright, as if he is filled up with light. “It’s really back.” 

Barnes smiles back, remembering, and glad. His bare legs prickle as the breeze stirs the hair there.

“There’s a bath,” he says, “they’re getting it ready. For you. I had mine. Hey, bring up my sword?” 

“Brilliant. I’m filthy. Sure, I’ll bring it up. You going to bed?”

“I will. First I need Wilde. To talk to him, I mean, about the mission.” 

Carter’s face, so solemn for so long, twitches into a smirk. “In a bathrobe?” he says. 

“Huh.” Barnes fails to school his expression and just grins back. “Yes. I’ll see you later.”

Carter's smile is teasing, but with genuine affection. “Good night, Barnes.” 

\--

Barnes turns to go inside, and feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his balls tighten. _Now_ , he thinks.

It feels like one motion, from the balcony, through the kitchen, down the hallway, a pause at the door. At his knock, Wilde’s voice answers, full of warm invitation. Stepping in and shutting the door takes the last of his coherent attention and he stands, stunned with desire. Wilde sits in his desk chair, in a similar simple robe, brushing his hair. Wilde looks at Barnes, sets aside the brush mid-stroke, and suddenly, finally, now. 

Just their lips touch, Wilde leaning down, Barnes yearning up, his hands reaching into Wilde’s hair, and Barnes opens his mouth with a sound that could be a laugh. It has been so long, month after month keeping his feelings hidden and hands to himself, carefully tending to Carter and the team and the mission, scoured by sandstorms and despair. He licks against the inside of Wilde’s lower lip, then draws Wilde’s tongue into his mouth, and he moans with the softness of it. 

Wilde has his hands on Barnes’ shoulders and steps slowly backward, moving and turning toward the bed. He’s not very much taller than Barnes, and certainly no stronger, but Wilde has had a great deal more practice, and Barnes is lost for now to this long-last kiss. Wilde manages to get his arm around Barnes’ shoulders and his knee on the bed before they just topple, but it’s still relatively graceless, Barnes lying on his back looking up at Wilde, who is half-sitting next to him. 

Barnes is already flushed and breathless. “Wilde.” One of his hands rests on Wilde’s thigh, the other is flat against the bed. If Barnes had less control it would be a fist. 

“Barnes.” Wilde is leaning on one hand, and places the other on Barnes’ chest where the robe has fallen open. 

“I find myself in a quandary.” 

“How’s that?” 

“I wanted this, for us to be more mutual, see? But now.”

“Now, what?”

Barnes gently takes Wilde’s hand and brings it to his face, pressing the tips of Wilde’s first two fingers against his open lips, then sliding his mouth around them, working his tongue around them, then pulling them out and moving their two hands downward together until Wilde’s hand is on his cock where it is hard against the thin fabric. Wilde sways, and his hand presses, his long fingers tracing, Barnes arching into the touch.

“Now. I just want you to bring me, with your hands, or your mouth, or. Just. Please.” 

In answer, Wilde leans in, chest to chest, whispers, _now_ , into the warming space at Barnes’ neck, captures his mouth in another deep kiss. Barnes rocks his head back with a moan, hands in Wilde’s hair. This closeness, this shared heat, feeds him, feels like a home. Barnes rocks his hips, pressing, the fabric of the robe dragging against him under Wilde’s strokes. 

It could be a matter of moments. It has been that way before. This awful, unpredictable work brings them crashing together, each other’s only respite. Anyone else requires arrangements, explanations, repercussions. 

Wilde pulls back, and Barnes follows, sitting up, sucking at Wilde’s mouth, then kissing against his jaw, hands moving to Wilde’s shoulders as Wilde pushes the robe off Barnes’ shoulders, opens it across his belly, frees his cock, bares the flex of his thighs. Wilde takes Barnes’ hands from where they grip his shoulders, holds them for a moment, a breath, a moment, then presses them to the bed. 

“Well now. Look at you.” Wilde slides backward off the bed, stands, pulls off his robe. Barnes breathes in, sharply, deeply, lips open, looking up at Wilde. He shifts on the bed, he opens his legs a little wider, knees bent for balance. There’s a sheen along his collarbones, his cock strains upward, moving with his breaths. Wilde reaches out, presses two fingers into Barnes’ mouth. As Wilde moves to sit at the head of the bed, he moves Barnes with the curl and pressure of those fingers, until Barnes is knelt over him, sucking hard at the fingers length-deep in his mouth. Thigh pressed to thigh, Barnes reaches down to grip his cock, his cock, leaning in to press them together, pressed together from chest to thigh, for the space of a breath, and another.

“Barnes.” Wilde pulls his fingers from Barnes’ mouth, strokes his jaw, his voice a breathy moan. Barnes’ drags his eyes open, rocking, one hand between them.

”I would have you in my mouth, if you can bear it.”

Barnes curls even closer for a moment to nuzzle into Wilde’s neck, then grabs the horizontal bar of the headboard and levers himself upward. Wilde reaches up at the same time, pushes against the bar to slide himself down into the pillows, then one hand is on Barnes’ hip and one is on his cock, holding it while his tongue licks at the head, tasting. 

Barnes’ breath catches, and catches, as Wilde strokes with hand and mouth, shifting on the pillows until he is taking all of it, Barnes fucking all the way into Wilde’s mouth, Wilde’s hands on the backs of his thighs, pulling him, hard, to fill his mouth, again. 

The inevitable rhythm catches them, and Barnes’ breath is a whispered shout, _now now now,_ head thrown back, shuddering into orgasm, clenched in a trembling arc, his knees against Wilde’s ribs. Wilde’s mouth rides him all the way through, Wilde’s hands hold him, he is anchored and emptied. 

As their breaths slow, Barnes sags onto his arms and shifts back to look down into Wilde’s face. ““Huh. Yeah.”

Wilde reaches up and grabs the bar, pulls himself from under Barnes, looks up, smiling. “About time, I’d say.”

Barnes slides down until he is on the pillows, one hand under his head, one hand on Wilde’s chest. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Barnes moves his hand in widening circles, stroking lightly, slowing when his fingers snag on a nipple, changing to long strokes from Wilde’s throat to his belly, then lower to cup Wilde’s balls, his thumb stroking Wilde’s cock, feeling Wilde’s shiver at all the points they touch, all the way to where he kisses Wilde’s shoulder. 

“Wilde.” 

“Mmm.” Wilde’s hips shift languidly, but his breath rasps, “Barnes.” 

“Not done yet.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a statement by players during the RQG campaign, indicating that they're not narrating everything; some character actions can be assumed as obviously something the characters would just do.
> 
> Also, Barnes really, really likes kissing.


End file.
